Life with the Troupe
by kateandsomebooks
Summary: We've all heard about Count Olaf. But what does the Troupe do in their spare time? They cause chaos of course! Follow the hopeless actors in the never ending quest for sanity. rated T to be safe.
1. The Troupe play dress up

Hello Lemony Snicket fans!

This is my first SOUE fic, and my second fic, so please don't be too evil in reviews. I'm currently writing another humour story about Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and decided that I could do a similar thing with Count Olaf and his troupe. Why not eh? They're stupid, aren't they? Well, maybe not, but hey. Right, here goes nothing...

----

**The Troupe play dress up. **

It was a rather dull morning in Count Olaf's house. Count Olaf was out chasing the Baudelaires again, and had left the Troupe in charge of the house.

Not a good idea.

They had been supposed to clean up the dishes, but, being stupid, they had voted that Fernald be in charge of that, and all he had suceeded in doing was making several large rips in the tea cloths, and more of a mess in the form of several broken plates.

The whited faced women were doing the dusting, but sadly, the white powder from their faces was being blown everywhere and making more dusting for them.

The other two associates, the bald man with the long nose, and the large associate who looked like neither a man or a woman, were having a little less trouble, but were still finding the job of cleaning the grimy windows extremely taxing.

"This is ridiculous!" Cried Fernald in frustration as he smashed his fifteenth tea cup. "I'm making more of a mess than you two." He said to the white faced women.

"We're covering the house in powder!" One of them said. "Don't think just because you've got hooks instead of hands anyone's going to feel sorry for you."

Fernald blushed angrily.

"I can't help being physically handicapped," he replied. "I don't want sympathy."

"You three stop it," hissed the bald man with the long nose. "It's quite obvious that all of us are just making things worse. All we're going to do is make the boss more angry."

"So what shall we do?" Fernald asked, sitting down with a sigh. "He's going to be out all day, and we've got nothing to do."

Suddenly, the large associate tripped over a large trunk. The others turned around.

"What's that?" One of the white faced women asked.

The bald man with the long nose tried to open it, it was locked.

"I'll do it," Fernald offered, bent down, stuck one of his hooks in the lock and began to turn it. There was a small 'click' and the trunk sprung open.

There was a gasp from the room.

"It's the disguise kit," the other white faced woman said. "The boss must have left it behind."

They all looked at each other, and then all dived for the trunk.

Disguises flew everywhere as the five associates pulled out costumes.

"I look like a scarecrow," cackled the bald man with the long nose as he pulled on a straw hat and a fake nose with an elastic band.

"I look like a pirate," Fernald grinned, stuffing a Captain's hat on his head. "Avast, all aboard the Quee- erm, I mean, The Jolly Rodger!"

"We look like ghosts!" One of the white faced women announced as she and the other woman pranced around the room in white sheets.

The large associate who looked like neither a man nor a woman said nothing, but put on a pair of sunglasses and admired themself in a hand mirror.

"On guard, Sir Turnipnose," Fernald said, brandishing one of his hooks. "You'll be walking the plank!"

"You'll be sorry you ever challenged me, Captain Spikey-hand," the bald man with the long nose growled, taking out a wooden sword from the trunk.

They started a loud and rawcous swordfight around the room, the two white faced women running around making ghostly noises and sprinkling powder everywhere, and the large associate trying on different types of wigs.

They were having so much fun, that none of them heard the front door open, and someone come into the room.

"Ahem," came a voice. They all froze and turned around. The man in the doorway with the one eyebrow and shiny eyes stared around the room at the smashed china, dirty windows, and powder covered floor. Then at Fernald and the bald man with the long nose frozen in mid fight, at the white faced women and their trail of white powder, and at the large associate who was currently wearing a long blonde wig with braids.

"So sorry to interrupt your little role playing session," Count Olaf said smoothly. "But may I enquire to ask WHAT ON EARTH HAS HAPPENED IN HERE?"

Everyone turned to look at one another.

"They started it!" They all said at once, pointing at each other.

"I don't care who started it," Count Olaf said dangerously. "I JUST WANT IT CLEANED UP NOW!"

There was silence.

"We'll erm, we'll get cleaning then, boss, shall we?" Fernald muttered.

----

That was the first chapter, please review. Was it good? Bad? Completely stupid? Did you love it? Hate it? Anything I could change? Whatever, review! Just click that cute little button in the corner. You know you want to.

Reddy.


	2. The Troupe get locked out

I am currently looking around the internet for stuff to do, and there's nothing there, so thought I'd update Life with the Troupe. I may also toddle off to upate The Misadventures in a mo.

This one was a little idea that came to me whilst I was trying to get a wasp out of my bedroom. Do not ask why. Features a guest appearance of Violet Baudelaire.

----

**The Troupe are locked out**

Count Olaf and his Troupe had returned from a nice little outing to the shops getting groceries.

When I said groceries, what I meant was several dozen bottles of wine. Of course.

Count Olaf reached into his pocket to get the door key. To his surprise, his hand only came into contact with pocket and air.

"Who's got the key?" He asked the Troupe. They all looked at each other and shrugged.

"I thought you had it, boss," Fernald said from behind his paper bag full of bottles.

"I gave it to you," Olaf snarled.

Fernald sighed, put down the bag and somehow managed to check his pockets without ripping them open.

"Not here," he said at last. "I thought I gave it to you." He looked at the bald man with the long nose.

"Well I don't have it," the associate replied.

There was a silence. The Troupe put down their bags and sat glumly on the doorstep.

"Ideas everyone!" Count Olaf snapped. "We can't stay out here."

"I could try picking the lock with my hooks," Fernald suggested, standing up. He tried to fit one of his hooks into the small keyhole but to no avail.

"It's too small," he sighed.

"We could try looking for a window to fit through," one of the white faced woman said.

"Excellent idea," Olaf replied, standing up. "Come on."

So they picked up the bags and started searching. But all of the windows were shut tight.

"Look!" The bald man with the long nose cried. "There's one!"

They all looked up.

"The Tower window," Count Olaf said flatly, looking at him. "Yes, that's great, except for one tiny problem."

"What?" They all asked.

"IT'S THREE FLOORS ABOVE US!"

"Oh, yes, of course," the bald man blushed.

"No way to get up, then?" Fernald asked tentively.

Olaf thought, and then his face broke into a wicked grin.

"I have an idea," he smirked. "I'll be back in a minute."

He hurried to the front of the house, jumped into his long black automobile and shot off.

The others sat there, and waited, until, just as they were about to give up, the sound of a car stopped outside and Count Olaf appeared again, dragging someone with him.

"Her?" Fernald asked, looking at Violet Baudelaire.

"Yes," Olaf replied. "Don't you remember her little invention to rescue her sister?"

"Oh yeah."

"You really are a genius, boss," one of the white faced women said.

"You should be on TV," the bald man added.

"Count Olaf," the other white faced woman pictured aloud. "The world's greatest genius."

"Erm, excuse me?" Violet said. They all turned to look at her. "I'm sorry but I'm not helping you."

"We just want to get into the house," Fernald whined.

"And you want me to build a grappling hook?" Violet asked.

"Yes." They all said.

"Fine," she sighed, and looked around, tying her hair up into a ribbon. The Troupe watched in fascination as she built a grappling hook.

"Happy?" She said when she had finished, passing it to Olaf.

"Thank you."

"Can I go now?"

"Yes, fine."

Violet walked off.

"Now how does this thing work?" Olaf wondered.

"I think you throw it up to the window, boss," the bald man replied.

Olaf threw the grappling hook, rope and all, into the Tower window.

"Were you, erm, supposed to throw it _all _up, sir?" Fernald asked.

There was a pause.

"You idiot!" Olaf snapped at the bald man with the long nose.

"What did I do?"

"You distracted me and made me let go of the rope!"

"I did not!"

The Troupe sat on the ground again to think.

"What now?" Fernald asked.

"How about we dig a tunnel into the house," one of the white faced women suggested.

"We haven't got any shovels," Olaf pointed out in exhasperation.

"I know!" Fernald cried. They all looked at him. "No," he sighed sadly. "I've forgotten."

Count Olaf looked up the side of the house to the Tower window. There was a drainpipe on that very wall.

"I have it!" He said, standing up. "We shall climb up the drainpipe!"

"Oh, very cliche," Fernald said flatly. Olaf glared at him.

"Start climbing!" He ordered.

(Fifteen minutes later.)

"You're stepping on my head," one of the white faced women said to the bald man.

"It's not my fault!" he protested. "He's got his shoe in my ear." He attempted to glare up at Fernald, who had got his hooks stuck in the wall.

The associate who looked like neither a man nor a woman was right at the bottom, still working out how to get it's large frame up.

"Be quiet you lot!" Olaf hissed. "We're nearly there!"

Suddenly, something silver fell out of his pocket and onto Fernald's head.

"It's the keys!" Olaf gasped.

"Where!" Fernald asked, turning his head, and causing the keys to slip off his hair and fall even further down.

"Catch them!" Olaf cried.

Everyone made wild gestures in the hope of catching the keys, but the sudden movement caused something on the drainpipe to snap, and the whole lot of them went tumbling down, landing heavily on top of the large associate.

"The keys!" Olaf cried, catching sight of the front door keys, balanced precariously on the edge of the drain. "Someone get them!"

There was a rush to get the keys.

"No! Stop!"

But they couldn't hear their boss of their pwn shouting. The bald man shoved Fernald out of the way, who fell down, one of his hooks hit the keys, and they caught around it.

"I got them!" He cried in delight.

"Careful," whispered Olaf, as his associate lifted the keys away from the drain as slowly as possible.

However villains to also suffer misfortune, and it was at that moment that one of the loose screws from the drainpipe fell down, hit Fernald on the head, (which hurt), and caused him enough of a distraction that they went tumbling down into the inky blackness of the drain.

"NOOOO!" Cried Olaf.

Fernald began to cry.

----

Heh heh heh. More coming soon!


	3. The Troupe play truth or dare

I'm back, you will all be devastated to hear, and with more tales of the Troupe.

**The Troupe play truth or dare.**

Not for the first time, the Troupe were bored.

They had finished their chores long ago, and were now wondering what to do. Fernald had fallen asleep in an armchair, which was not a surprise, as he often fell asleep when bored, the white faced women had collapsed onto a sofa, the person of intermediate gender was sitting in a chair, glancing casually around the room, and the bald man with the long nose was sitting in another one, tapping his fingers on the arm.

"Where's the Boss?" He asked.

The associate who looked like neither a man nor a woman shrugged.

"In the Tower," one of the white faced women replied.

"Oh."

There was silence.

"So, what shall we do?"

"We could play 'I Spy'," one of the white faced women suggested.

"That's for babies," the other said. "How about spin the bottle."

The other one looked around the room.

"You mean with the guys in _here_?" She asked. "Are you serious?"

"We could always ask the Boss if he wants to play," the other replied.

"He's too busy plotting," the bald man said.

"OK," one of the white faced women said. "How about 'Truth or Dare'."

"Yes!" The bald man grinned. "I _love_that game!"

The three of them, joined by the large associate, leaned in closer and started the game.

"I dare you," one of the white faced women said, looking at the bald man. "To..." she looked around the room. Pretend to be The Littlest Elf."

The bald man turned pink, but stood up all the same. He cleared his throat and put on a high pitched voice.

"Hello," he squeaked. "I am The Littlest Elf. I live in the forest, in harmony with the squirrels and alligators, and the lollipop flavoured unicorns."

"That was rubbish," the other white faced woman said when he had sat down.

"My turn," the bald man growled. "I dare _you_," he turned to the associate of intermediate gender. "To throw the Boss's favourite wine out of the window."

There was a gasp from the small group.

"Are you _mad_?" One of the white faced women asked.

The bald man shrugged.

"You have to do it," he said to the poor unfortunate Troupe member.

The large associate stood up, face turned white and walked out of the room. There was silence as the three associates waited.

CRASH!

They burst out laughing as their comrade came back, and sat down, red in the face.

"Right," the other white faced woman said. "My turn, and this dare is for _all_of you."

They nodded.

She looked around, stuck for ideas.

"PIRATES!" Fernald cried in his sleep. "All hands on deck, Aye!"

The white faced women gave the others a smirk.

"When he wakes up," the other white faced woman whispered. "We are _dead_."

"He's got such sharp hooks," the bald man gulped.

"You _have_to do it," the other white faced woman reminded them. "I dared _all_ of you, remember?"

The bald man painted black face paint on Fernald's face with a trembling hand. Fernald stirred a little as the brush went over his eyelid, making the bald man jump.

"Just a little more," the white faced woman told them, watching with amusement as her associates painted an eye patch, several scars and a moustache on Fernald's face.

"There," the other white faced woman said, finished off the curl on the moustache. They sat back down and looked at him.

"He really _is_going to kill us, isn't he?" The bald man said.

"Aye." Replied the white faced woman with a smirk.

"My turn again," the other white faced woman said. "And it's for _you_this time," she turned to the other white faced woman. "I dare you to..." she thought, and then a wicked smile crept across her face. "I_double_dare you-"

"Oooh," the bald man said. "A _double_dare eh?"

"Yes," the white faced woman said. "Can I finish?"

"Yes, sorry, of course."

"I double dare you to go and kiss the Boss."

The other white faced woman turned even whiter.

Count Olaf was sitting in his Tower, scribbling doodles of the Baudelaires being killed in unpleasant ways, mostly by him.

"And then I could throw that eraser at them, and BANG!" He cackled to himself. He was jerked out of his drawings when there was a timid knock on the door.  
"What is it?" He called.

There was no answer.

"_Go_!" The bald man hissed from the outside, as he, the large troupe member and the white faced woman practically shoved their associate through the door.

The other white faced woman stumbled most ungraciously through the door. Olaf spun around in his chair.

"What do you want?" He asked.

"I- erm- I-"

Olaf watched her muttering with confusion.

"I'm really sorry," she mumbled. "I was double dared, and you know how _double_dares are. Can't, well, _not_do them."

"What?" Olaf asked, now officially confused.

There was a pause, the white faced woman took a deep breath, and grabbed him.

"Yuk!" The associates grimaced as they watched.

"Well," the other white faced woman said. "At least she did it."

They fell silent as the poor woman inside the room broke away.

Olaf just stared at her.

"Like I said," she said nervously. "They double dared me, I would never have... erm, I'll just go now."

Olaf continued staring at her, aghast as she hurried out of the room.

When the door was closed and she was gone, he finally spoke.

"Wow."

"I _cannot_believe you did that!" The white faced woman was saying as they made their way back to the living room. "How was it?"

"Well-"

"Was he a good kisser?"

"Er-"

The four of them froze as they entered the living room to find their fifth associate, now very much awake and glaring at them.

"What," Fernald said slowly, advancing on them, hooks raised. "Have you done to my face?"

"RUN!" The bald man cried. And they did.


	4. The Troupe go to the sea

I apologise for my absence. I have been dead for the past few days.

----

**The Troupe go to the sea**

"Oh I do like to be beside the seaside! Oh I do like to be beside the sea!" The bald man sung loudly.

"Oh shut up!" Moaned one of the white faced women.

Count Olaf and his Troupe were going to the seaside. This idea was first raised by Fernald, during a debate about whether to have a day out somewhere, or whether to play scrabble.

They were now driving along in the car, having to listen to the bald man's awful singing.

"Can't we sing something else?" Asked the other.

"Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!" Fernald half sang, half yelled.

"NO!" Everyone cried.

There was silence.

Olaf, who was driving, was trying to overtake the car in front, rather stupidly as there was cars coming the other way, and he was getting honked at angrily by many of them. His mind was elsewhere, trying to work out ways of stealing the Baudelaire fortune, in numerous strange ways. The idea of the eraser had been abandoned, and now he was working out a scheme involving a protractor and a bottle of window cleaning liquid.

One of the white faced women, who was sitting in the passenger seat, was trying to look anywhere but at the driver. The double dare that she had been unfortunately chosen to perform was still haunting her, and would not go away. But the others, who were either trying a spot of matchmaking or thought it was just funny had made her sit next to Olaf by taking up all of the other seats. She suspected that it was the latter.

The other white faced woman was sitting in one of the middle seats, staring out of the window at the scenery. The scenery wasn't particularly fantastic considering that it was hard to see past the layer of dead bugs that had met their demise by splatting most painfully on the glass. She wasn't looking forward to going to the beach, she was bound to get a tan, and that would mean more white powder, which would take up more of the valuble time that she spent irritating her sister.

The bald man was sitting in the back, pondering on what song to sing next. He wasn't really bothered about going to the sea, it was just a very big puddle with fish and salt in, nothing special about it at all. _Still,_ he thought. _Beats Scrabble. _

Fernald was sitting next to him in the back, peering out of the front window trying to look for the sea. He couldn't wait to get there, and see the sea again. It had been a very long time since he had been there.

All in all, the majority of the troupe were not terribly excited to be going there.

"Well, here we are," Olaf sighed, getting out of the car when they had parked.

It was a rather dismal place to look at. The beach was covered in rocks instead of sand, the water was a dim murky grey and they seemed to be the only ones there.

"EEEKK!" Fernald cried in excitment.

They turned to look at him.

"What?" He asked.

"Yes..." Olaf said, glancing at him, looking highly disturbed. "Well..."

-

Five minutes later and most of the Troupe were sitting on a large pile of rocks on the beach, looking rather fed up.

"How long is he going to keep this up?" The bald man with the long nose asked.

"I don't know," Olaf sighed. "Could be hours."

"Take that!" Fernald cried, a little way in front of them. He was fighting a 'pirate' (a pole stuck in the ground), who was trying to take over his 'ship' (a pile of rocks with his jacket on a stick flapping above it."

"I spy with my little eye," one of the white faced women said. "Something beginning with... Poe?"

The others turned around and followed her gaze, and, sure enough, Mr Poe was walking along the beach, he had apparantly not noticed them yet.

"Hide!" Olaf hissed, and they dived behind a rock.

"Land Ahoy!" Fernald shouted.

"Grab him!" Olaf whispered dangerously, and his associates dashed out and pulled him behind the rock.

"Now all of you shut up!" Olaf said, peering around the rock to see that the banker was approaching their hiding place.

"Boss," Fernald whispered.

"I said shut up!"

"But, my jacket's still out there."

"So?"

"So he'll recognise it, won't he?"

There was silence.

"You stupid boy."

"I'm not a boy," Fernald sniffed. "I'm a grown man."

"You're a young man," Olaf glared. "And young men are always foolish."

"Oh no," ne of the white faced women whispered, breaking up the row. "There are two children there."

"_What_?" Olaf asked, peering out again, and, sure enough, he saw the Poes having a family picnic on the beach, their two sons, Edgar and Albert running around hitting each other with large pieces of heavy driftwood.

Suddenly, Edgar spotted the large green jacket hanging on the pole, and stopped beating his brother about the head for a moment to look at it.

"What's that?" He asked his brother.

"Pirates," Albert replied, with a wicked grin.

"We're going to fight some pirates!" They called to their parents, who were sitting on the picnic blanket.

"All right," Mrs Poe called. "Just be back soon."

The two irritating youngsters ran over to the jacket and pulled it off.

"My jacket," Fernald whispered in dismay, and the others had to hold him back to stop him from running out to get it back.

"If Mr Poe sees us," Olaf whispered urgently. "We'll be locked away. Now what's more important? Your freedom or your silly old weather-beaten green jacket?"

"The jacket." Fernald replied decisively.

The others held him there as they watched the boys regard the garment with expert eyes.

"Looks like it belongs to a man," Edgar said.

"In about his twenties," Albert added. Fernald looked up in astonishment.

"Brown curly hair," Edgar continued, looking at the sleeve.

"And hooks instead of hands," Albert said, glancing disdainfully at the collar.

"How the hell do they know all that?" Fernald asked softly. The others were just as shocked, however, and remained silent as the boys began to speak again.

"You know, Edgar," Albert was saying. "I think this person sounds fascinating."

"Indeed he does, Albert," his brother agreed. "Wouldn't it be wonderful to actually meet such a person?"

"Yes," Albert said. "In fact, I think I know where to find the very person who owns this jacket."

"Why, where on earth could that be?"

"Behind that rock."

There was a moment of silence, in which the two young boys turned to look at the rock behind which Count Olaf and his Troupe were hiding, and the latter took a moment to comprehend those words, which had been so casual that they hadn't quite understood them at first. Of course, Mr Poe had undoubtedly told his sons about Count Olaf and co. and probably given them all descriptions so that 'Daddy could turn them into the Police for a nice little reward to go towards new scooters.'

It was therefore hardly suprising that when Olaf and his Troupe had decided that the game was up, and appeared from the rock, that Edgar and Albert took a deep breath each and yelled at the top of their lungs:

"DADDY! COUNT OLAF IS BEHIND THIS ROCK!"

Mr Poe, who had been, up until now, relaxing on the picnic rug, enjoying a nice cheese and cucumber sandwhich, leapt to his feet at once and hurried over, wife in tow.

"Run!" Olaf yelled, and he took off, the Troupe behind.

"I'll take that," Fernald snapped, snatching his jacket, pulling it on and running off after them.

The Poes, as I am sure you may have guessed, were not the most athletic family in the world, and all of those times running from the police had given Olaf's Troupe quite the good set of running legs, so it came as nothing of a shock when they outran the yelling Poes, dived into the car and drove off as fast as they could.

There was a tension filled silence in the car, and a horrible atmosphere of intense annoyance was thick in the air, most of this directed at Fernald, who was brushing some sand off of his jacket. When he had finished and put it back on, he gave a huge sigh and spoke.

"Can we go back again tomorrow?"

----

You can never have enough irritating little kids. For those of you who have read The Misadventures, I don't think I will turn Edgar and Albert into the equivalent of Stewart Mallory, not only is the world not ready for two more demonic strangely clever boys, but I don't want the antics of the Troupe to be too much like what happens to the Death Eaters. They may pop up again, but not as much as Stewart does.

Reddy.


	5. The Troupe on Halloween

Sorry that this chapter is a bit late. I was writing the Hallowéen and bonfire Night chapter for my Death Eater fic. There won't be a Bonfire Night chapter for the Troupe because they live in America. I think. Nobody really knows. I like to think they do.

----

The Troupe on Hallowéen 

"This really isn't necessary," Olaf said, eyeing his troupe members with distate as they bustled around with a pumpkin and a bowl of sweets. "It will just draw attention to us, and we don't want to be recognised."

"We'll be fine," the bald man replied. "We won't even be seen! The little children just come up to the door, grab some candy and off they go!"

Olaf did not look so sure.

"Well I'm not going to play any part in it," he said. "Pointless holiday anyway. Little children annoy me."

"The chances are they won't come here anyway," the other white faced woman said. "Little kids tend to steer clear of this place."

"Good," Olaf grumbled, heading upstairs. "I just hope it stays that way."

It was getting dark, the Troupe retired to the living room to watch television.

Not much time had passed, when there was a knock at the door.

"We left the candy out there!" Flo sighed. "What could they want?"

She stood up and went to answer the door. She opened it and peered into the dark garden outside. Nobody was there.

"Hello?" She asked timidly into the night.

Nothing.

She glanced down at the bucket of sweets and stared. The entire bucket was gone.

There was a sudden cold breath of wind, and the candle in the pumpkin was blown out, extinguishing the only light.

A shiver ran up Flo's spine. Somebody was out there.

"Guys?" She called.

"What?" She heard her sister reply.

"I think you should come out here."

She heard the shuffling of the troupe members getting up, and a few seconds later they joined her at the door.

"What is it?" Fernald asked.

"The candy is gone," Flo replied. "And somebody's out there."

The troupe peered around her into the dark night.

"I suppose," Fernald said. "We should, erm, go and see what it is?"

"Yes," the bald man replied. He sneered at Fernald. "Unless you're scared."

"No!" Fernald replied indignantly.

There was a pause.

"Well," the bald man said. "Ladies first."

Flo and her sister sighed, and stepped outside.

The night was dark and cold. The wind blew through the garden and made it seem even colder.

"Who's there?" Flo asked.

There was no reply.

Suddenly, there was a heart stopping CRASH, and the Troupe leapt and spun around. The noise had come from an upturned dustbin.

"Probably just a cat," the bald man said.

"Yes," Fernald said. "You're probably right."

"Here Kitty Kitty," the bald man said.

Meow

The Troupe would usually have been unphazed by a simple 'Meow' from a cat, but when they turned around, and saw this kitty from hell, they all turned a rather stark shade of white.

"What the hell is that?" The bald man asked, backing slowly away.

"A rabid kitty?" Fernald suggested.

The cat was not a normal innocent domestic feline, and it certainly didn't look as if it had been domestic for a long time, if ever.

It was twice the size of a normal cat, and looked as if it had been in a few fights, with a scarred face and various patches of ripped out fur. A half eaten string of liqourice hung from it's mouth, it's eyes glowed amber as it fixed the troupe with a dangerous glare, and it was hissing and spitting at them, as if to tell them to get out of it's nightly haunt.

It leapt forwards, and the troupe let out a yell and ran the other way.

The pursuit was long and terrifying, the troupe ran as fast as they could, tripping over the discarded rubbish in the garden as they did so, wanting nothing more than to get as far away as was possible from this giant cat that seemed to be chasing them as if it were chasing rather large mice.

"Do you think we lost him?" The bald man gasped as the five of them ducked behind an old and rusty car.

"I don't know," Flo replied, her heart was beating fast. "What was that?"

"There's only one explanation," Fernald replied. "A were-cat."

"A were-cat?" The other white faced woman asked mockingly. "There's no such thing."

"Have you seen any other cat taht size?" Fernald asked. "And it's a full moon."

They all stared at him.

"What are we going to do with you?" Flo sighed. "It's not a were-cat, it's just a slightly mental normal house cat going for a night time stroll."

"Oh yes," Fernald said sarcastically. "It was certainly _strolling _after us just now."

_MEOW! _

"ARRGHHH!" The troupe yelled, as the cat leapt at them from a tree behind. They took off again, heading towards the front door.

"We're nearly there!" Flo yelled joyfully as they flung open the door and piled inside. She slammed the door and bolted it, just in time, as there was an almighty crash from the other side, as the cat collided with the wood.

"Stay still," Flo whispered.

They heard the cat sniffing around the door, and then there was a distant yowl from another cat, and it sprung away.

The troupe let out a sigh of relief. Fernald fainted.

The person of intermediate gender was inspecting something on it's arm. The troupe looked at them, and stared.

"Did it bite you?" Flo asked.

The associate shook it's enormous head, covering up the wound.

"Are you sure?" The bald man asked.

It nodded.

"OK," the other white faced woman said. "If you're sure..." they walked away, leaving Fernald collapsed on the floor.

The associate of intermediate gender looked about itself, and, when it was sure that nobody could see, opened the door and slipped out inot the night.

"Well," Flo said. "That was an eventful Hallowéen."

"Were-cat," the bald man snorted. "What will he come up with next."

Suddenly, a breeze blew through the open window, and the troupe members heard a distinct noise carried on the wind.

_MEEOOOOOOOOOWWWW..._

"AAAARRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!"

----

Ooooooooooohh...


	6. The Troupe on Thanksgiving

Heylo Fraks. I know this is a billion years late, sorry. Welcome to the Thanksgiving chapter of Life with the Troupe. And a belated happy Thanksgiving to you Americans!

----

**The Troupe on Thanksgiving **

"I don't believe it," Flo said as she opened the oven. "I don't _believe _it. HOW HARD WAS IT FOR YOU TO COOK A TURKEY?"

"I'm sorry!" Fernald cowered. "I'm hopeless at cooking!"

"Who put him in charge?" She asked the other three.

"The Boss," replied the bald man.

"Oh..." Flo paused.

"Want to go and yell at him?" Fernald asked with a smirk.

Flo glared at him and sighed.

"This was supposed to be a nice, _normal _Thanksgiving," she said. "No Baudelaires, no law breaking, no disguises, just a nice meal together for _one day. _JUST ONE!"

They others glanced at her.

"All I did was to open the door too soon," Fernald said. "It's fine, look." He opened the door to show her.

"DON'T -"

He jumped and slammed it shut as Flo shot him a dark glare.

"I'll get those baguettes, then..." he said.

"And you better do it right." She said, glaring after him. "How's that ham coming?" She hurried over to where her sister was making the ham.

"That's tiny!" She cried.

"Well we've got a turkey," her sister protested. "And there are only five of us."

"Ten if you count the human garbage can," Flo replied, gesturing over to the person of intermediate gender, who quickly removed their fingers from the mashed potatoes."

"We're having that for tea," Flo said sharply, as the bald man eyed up the pumpkin pie. "We can't eat turkey, ham _and _pumpkin pie as well. We'd burst."

"How's the Thanksgiving dinner," Olaf asked, striding into the kitchen. "I hope it's nearly ready, as I am very hungry, and hoping to give thanks very soon."

"Er... yeah..." the white faced woman said.

"It's nearly ready, if that's what you mean." Flo said irritably, All this bustling around that she had been doing all morning had taken a lot out of her. "In fact it's practically finished. I'll just take this turkey out of the oven and the rest of you take the stuff to the table."

"Ordering them around, are you?" Olaf asked her, as the others clamoured to do as she said.

"Yes," she said, taking out the turkey.

"They seem to be listening very well."

"Good," she said. "They should be."

"Any beef?" Olaf asked.

"There's ham, will that be all right?" She snapped.

Olaf raised his eyebrows, and walked out of the door without another word.

"Happy Thanksgiving, everyone," Flo said, when they were sat around the table. "As you know I have been slightly tense today, and you lot haven't exactly been helpful." She shot a knife like glare at Fernald, who cringed. "But for this one special day of the year, I think it's worth it."

There was a collective nod.

"So," Olaf said. "If you've quite finished, can we start?"

"Wait," Flo said, freezing.

"What?" Her sister asked.

"Does anyone else smell burning?"

And indeed, a stream of smoke could be seen snaking out from the kitchen.

"Who was in charge of the pudding?" Flo asked dangerously.

Fernald seemed to be very busy inspecting a speck of dust on the table.

Flo looked at him, and rose slowly.

"You," she said. He looked up, terrified as she advanced menacingly. "You ruined my pudding."

"I forgot!" Fernald said. "Honestly!"

"I'll kill you." She said, as fernald scrambeld out of his chair. "COME BACK HERE!" She yelled, shooting after Fernald who jumped and ran away with a frightened squeak.

There was silence.

"I'll get the jellybeans then?" The bald man asked.

----

Thank you so much to everyone who gave me the information! It was very interesting indeed, and sorry if I got anything wrong or missed any important things out. I am merely ignorant and English. :)

Reddy.


	7. The Troupe babysit Carmelita

Hello freaks. I'm really sorry for leaving it so long! Chapter 7 is here, and with Esmé, Carmelita, and pizza!

----

**The Troupe babysit Carmelita**

Not for the first time, the troupe were lounging about in the living room. They were in that phase of consciousness where they were not awake, but not asleep, and were just collapsed in their favourite arm chairs, not doing much. Fernald gave a loud snore, confirming that one of them had passed the barrier and was now sound asleep.

It was at that moment that there was a knock on the door.

_Knock knock_

None of the Troupe could be bothered to actually stand up and get the door, so they just sat there.

_Knock knock_

"WILL SOMEBODY GET THAT?" Yelled Olaf from upstairs.

Flo sighed and stood up. She dragged herself to the door and opened it.

If Flo was not awake before, she certainly was now, partly at seeing exactly who was at the door, and partly because she was nearly blinded by this person's bizarre outfit.

Esmé Squalor was dressed, once again, in a ridiculous costume. It could be described as nothing else except four giant disco balls.

There was one very large one around her torso and legs, one pretty big one on her head, acting as a hat, and two on her feet, acting as shoes, it was, all in all, not the safest of costumes. Just to top it off she had two small disco ball earrings.

Flo could do nothing but stare for a few minutes, being partly blinded at the light reflected off Esmé's costume.

"What?" Snapped Esmé rudely, giving Flo a dark glare.

"Nothing," Flo said quickly. "Erm, nice outfit."

Esmé gave a small sniff, and looked at Flo with a patronising smile, showing all of her perfectly straight, white teeth.

"Maybe some day you'll be as popular and well dressed as me," she said, glancing Flo's shabby clothes up and down. "Or maybe not..."

She walked in with as much dignity and aloofness as was manageable in those shoes, revealing a smaller figure behind her, dressed in an identical costume.

"You'll look after Carmelita whilst we're out, won't you?" Esmé asked Flo.

Flo warily looked at Carmelita, who was fixing her with a glare exactly the same as Esmé's. However she highly doubted that Esmé would accept anything less than a nod in answer to her rather rhetorical question. So nod she did.

"Out?" Flo asked. "We?"

"Oh, didn't he tell you?" Esmé asked. "Olaf and I are going out tonight."

"No," Flo said, trying to look indifferent to this news. "No, he didn't."

"Darling! There you are!" Esmé cried, as Olaf appeared in the hall.

"I do apologise for not getting the door myself," Olaf said. "I hope you were let in all right."

"Oh yes," Esmé replied. "She let me in."

Flo winced at Esmé's tone, she was speaking as though Flo wasn't there.

"Darling, I do wish your friends would try to be a little more stylish," Esmé said, glancing down her nose at Flo. "I have to say this one looks terribly ugly in such shabby clothes."

Flo was shocked, she was just about to open her mouth to retort, when Olaf spoke.

"Oh, I don't know," he said, turning his gaze to Flo. "She looks rather pretty to me."

Flo's cheeks turned pink. Esmé gave her a scowl.

"Don't you like my outfit, Darling?" She asked. "Of course, it's the most fashionable thing to wear at the moment. Everyone's wearing it. Well, everyone who can afford to anyway," she gave Flo a disdainful look.

"We'd better be off," Olaf said.

"We must!" Esmé agreed. "Carmelita, be a good girl, won't you?"

Carmelita beamed at her.

"I'm always a good girl!" She replied.

"Oh, aren't you just, darling!" Esmé cooed.

As Flo closed the door behind them, Carmelita turned to Flo.

"I don't like your clothes," she said promptly.

Flo blinked, slightly taken aback.

Carmelita grinned, and skipped into the living room, singing merrily.

-

"What's taking her so long to answer the door?" Flo's sister asked. "She was supposed to get the pizza out of the oven too. That'll be burnt by now."

The bald man with the long nose sighed and settled back on the sofa to go to sleep.

He was just closing his eyes, when there came a high pitched squeal of delight, and his eyes snapped open, revealing what at first glance looked like a small glittering snowman bouncing towards him.

"Baldy!" Carmelita squealed in delight, and the bald man with the long nose gave an inward groan of despair as she proceeded to bounce on the sofa relentlessly.

"What is she doing here?" Flo's sister asked.

"Olaf and Esmé have gone out," Flo replied. "So they asked us to look after Carmelita. Isn't that… nice?"

The bald man with the long nose gave her a withering look as he was pelted with cushions by the young girl.

"I'll go and get that pizza, shall I?" Flo asked, ducking a flying cushion and hurrying out of the room.

-

When she returned with the slightly burnt but otherwise unharmed pizza, Carmelita had succeeded in upturning a few chairs, and breaking most of the cushions, incidentally spreading feathers all over the living room.

Flo stared in horror at the scene.

"Pizza!" Carmelita cried in delight, and dashed over to grab three large pieces. "Just in time, too!" She said. "I'd run out of ammo!"

"No!" Flo cried, but she was too late. Carmelita had already thrown it at the bald man with the long nose. He ducked, and it hit Fernald right in the face, in a mess of cheese and pepperoni.

Fernald woke up with a start.

"What's going on!?" He asked in bewilderment, grabbing the sleeve of the bald man to wipe the cheese off his face.

"Get off!" The bald man protested, snatching it away.

"Hooky!" Carmelita cried in delight.

Fernald stared in horror, and pointed at Carmelita with a trembling hook.

"What's s-she doing h-here?" he asked.

"We're babysitting," Flo replied flatly.

Fernald looked as though he was about to cry.

"How about," Flo's sister said, inspiration suddenly hitting her. "A nice little game of sardines."

"Sardines?" Carmelita asked, sounding interested.

"Yes," Flo's sister continued. "One person goes and hides, and then the rest of us has to find them. When someone finds them, they hide with them, and so on, until there is only one finder left."

"Sounds fun!" Carmelita said eagerly. "Who's going to hide first?"

"I will," Fernald volunteered.

"Right," Flo's sister said. "The rest of us count to one hundred."

Fernald dashed off to find a hiding place.

Where could he hide that was big enough to hold at least five people?

He thought, and then had an idea. The Tower!

He knew full well that nobody was allowed up there, and if Olaf caught him then he would be in big trouble, but Olaf wasn't there, and he was in desperate need of a hiding place, as he could already hear the others reaching 'fifty two'.

So he hurried up the stairs to the Tower, and found a rather suitable cupboard in which to hide himself in, behind a large array of moth eating and moulding acting costumes. He huddled at the back, and waited.

-

The bald man with the long nose stood hesitantly at the foot of the stairs leading up to the Tower. He was pretty sure Fernald had hidden up there; he had searched the whole house over several times and not found him.

But if Olaf caught him in his 'strictly out of bounds' Tower room, then goodness knows what would happen.

Still, Olaf wasn't here, and so the bald man decided to be brave, and began to climb the stairs.

-

"Move over will you?" Hissed the bald man as he squeezed into Fernald's hiding place.

"Well stop digging your shoe into my arm then!" Fernald spat back.

The two of them sat in furious silence.

It was not long until someone else found their hiding place. Flo's sister.

"Are you nuts?" She asked Fernald as she squeezed into the cupboard. "What if the Boss finds us up here?"

"Well he won't!" Fernald replied, dignity wounded. "He's not here, remember."

"Someone else is coming," the bald man said, and true enough, the cupboard door opened and Flo scrambled in.

"Oh, great hiding place," she said to Fernald sarcastically as she squeezed into the corner next to him.

"Will everyone stop going on about the hiding place!" Fernald cried.

Soon enough, the door opened again, and the person of intermediate gender squeezed in and closed the door with a click.

There was silence.

"Did you just close the door?" Flo asked slowly.

The person of intermediate gender nodded.

There was a chorus of angry protest.

"We won't be able to get out now!" Flo's sister cried.

"We'll run out of air!" The bald man with the long nose added.

"And food!" Fernald piped up.

"What if the Boss finds us?" Flo asked in horror, and, right on cue, they heard the front door open from downstairs.

They fell silent and listened, hearts racing.

"Blasted restraining order," they heard Olaf grumble. "Sorry about that, Esmé."

"It's perfectly all right, darling," Esmé replied. "I can have them shut down so fast they won't know what hit them."

"I'll be back in a moment," they heard Olaf say. "I'll just go and get some wine from the Tower and I'll be right back."

The Troupe shook with fear as they heard their Boss climb the stairs to their hiding place.

Olaf opened the door, stepped inside, and began to search the room for a wine bottle that hadn't been drained already.

Shivering with fear is an unfortunate habit that some people have, as it can disadvantage them terribly in circumstances where they really don't want or need to be disadvantaged in.

Hiding is one of them, especially hiding in a dusty costume cupboard, with a bald man with a long nose, who has a dust allergy.

Fernald shivered, the large and hideous moleskin coat beside him shaking as he did so, spraying dust everywhere.

The bald man with the long nose had alarm bells ringing in his head as he felt the dust fall around him. He felt his nose itch, and his eyes begin to water.

No! He couldn't! He had to restrain it! He had to stop himself!

But as Fernald shivered more, and as the moleskin jacket sent more and more particles of unmerciful dust flying around the poorly ventilated cupboard, he couldn't fight it any more.

"_ACHOOO!" _

The other Troupe members jumped and stared at him in horror.

"Sorry!" He whispered.

However there was no point in whispering now, as they heard footsteps approaching their hiding place, and someone took hold of the door handles, and flung the cupboard doors open.

"Err… hi Boss," the bald man said.

Olaf looked furious.

"WHAT do you think you're doing in my Tower!?" He shouted.

"Hiding?" Fernald tried quietly.

The others gave him the blackest of looks.

"Where's Carmelita?" Olaf asked. "Shouldn't you be looking after her?"

"She's probably in the living room," Fernald said. "Making more mess."

He received more dark looks.

Olaf stared at him, before dashing back down the stairs, his associates following meekly in tow.

"Olaf, darling, what's going on?" Esmé asked, taking off her disco ball hat and following after them.

Olaf stopped in the doorway to the living room, and the others peered around him.

Carmelita was sitting in a fort made of upturned chairs and sofas, surrounded by the white feathery remains of Olaf's best cushions, munching merrily on the rest of the pizza.

Esmé gave a small scream of horror, before dashing over to Carmelita.

"Pizza stains all down your new, _in _outfit!" She cried. "Oh, I'm not blaming you, precious. It's those imbeciles who should have been looking after you who're to blame!" She shot the Troupe a nasty look.

"You!" She snapped at Flo. "I don't care how pretty Olaf thinks you are! Clean this up now!"

Flo meekly hurried over to clean up the mess. She picked up the half eaten pieces of pizza and put them haphazardly on the tray.

"Come here, darling," Esmé cooed to Carmelita. "That pizza will be doing nothing at all for your figure."

Carmelita obligingly hurried towards Esmé, barging rudely past Flo as she did so. Big mistake.

The pizza, as I have already mentioned, was stacked rather precariously on the tray that Flo was carrying, and having a small girl barge past did nothing to help it become more stable.

In fact, Flo lost all grip of it, and the pizza rose into the air slightly, before falling, and landing with beautiful accuracy, right onto the now hatless head of Esmé.

Esmé screamed.

Olaf smirked.

"You… IDIOT!" She yelled at Flo. "Brand new, this outfit was! And the most in thing around! But of course you wouldn't appreciate that with your tatty, unfashionable clothes! What have you got to say for yourself!?"

Flo looked at Esmé for a moment, and bent down to pick up a slightly hairy slice of pizza that had typically decided to land face down on the carpet.

"Pizza?" She offered.

----

Again, sorry for taking so long to update!

Next chapter coming soon, sooner, I promise!

Reddy


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